I am told, via my friend Alison on Facebook and the person who took the photo above of a print-out from Man Mo Temple (click on it to read the marvelously wacky predictions), that this will be a "wonderful year" for the horse. You may also spot the interesting mention of my "lucky accessory" of a Kirin unicorn. Crikey.
It made me want to bring Hong Kong artists back over here to the U.S. Expose their stories, show their great struggles and their important voice of freedom. Hong Kong is becoming a regional force - just read the way that Art Basel is showcasing the city. They run the Hong Kong Art Fair in May and this is their big 'coming out' year (where our humble guide will be handed out). But there is a ringing tension too in that city... there is something amiss in the seas and sands, the hills and reclamations of Hong Kong. A sense of a pressure cooker. A sense of approaching extinction...
The words swirl and swirl and I think my job this year is to harness them down with strings and stones and tie them to the screen. As the Year of the Snake opens, as my "Kirin" unicorn awakens from her deep sleep, I get ready to write, write, write my way through this new dream. Cast off my old skin. Get the words out and explore new ground. What's been stoppping me so far? I think some bad habits, of giving in to an inner critic. Giving up before I really get going.
And frankly, it all points to what my Buddhist teacher is so vitally telling me these days: let go of results. Just walk the path. Just do the practice - and then let go of what it could all be. Give up attachment to all results. Shake off that skin, girl.
PS. And since I'm on the topic of love-hate writerly struggles and Facebook-inspired stories, check out this New Yorker article that my good friend Edmund Lee circulated this morning - what do you think? I think I may be with Philip Roth on this one.
PPS. Photo credit: The kind soul who photographed the above, whoever you are, I thank you, I thank you, I thank you! And I hope you don't mind me placing it here XX